


a trial of wolves and stags

by mermaidia



Series: A Ballad of Wolves, Lions and Stags [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, RamSan, Rommen, Sebreen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidia/pseuds/mermaidia
Summary: Rickon Stark and Tommen Baratheon have fled North of the Wall, leaving King’s Landing under Shireen’s control. The queen sends Jon Snow to fetch the princes and bring them back to the capital for a trial. However not everyone wants the princes to come back to King’s Landing in one piece, and even more people don’t want a girl sitting on their throne. Will Shireen give up her throne to please the people and let the kingdoms spiral into confusion once more...or will the kingdoms erupt into a civil war?book 2 of A Ballad of Wolves, Lions and Stags





	1. prologue

Jon sat in his room, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand. Being Lord Commander wasn’t easy in any way—he has to deal with new recruits (which weren’t many) as well as take care of Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-By-The-Sea. In short, he needed a break.   
A steward—a new one, one Jon didn’t know the name of yet—peeked around the doorframe nervously. He had a fluffy mop of blonde hair and long, spindly fingers. His brown eyes never seemed to stay on one object for long.   
“M-My lord?” The boy squeaked he couldn’t of been older than twelve. His skinny frame reminded Jon of his youngest brother.   
“Yes?” Jon said, the word coming out a little bit more forcefully than he intended. The boy seemed to shrink back, but stepped into the room, holding out a rolled up slip of paper. “T-This came for you from King’s Landing.”  
“The capital?” Jon asked, intrigued. He hadn’t heard anything from the capital except for the proclamation of Rickon’s coronation, and that had been about two months ago. “Let me see it.”  
The boy handed the letter to Jon and he studied the wax seal. It wasn’t the normal Stark emblem — it was a rearing stag in front of a heart on fire.   
“What do the bloody Baratheons want now?” Jon mumbled under his breath as he unrolled the paper. His eyes continued to narrow as he read. 

Lord Commander Snow,

I write you with sorrow and pity in my heart. As you may or may not know, a rebellion has been marching on King’s Landing for some time. On the day your brother King Rickon was supposed to announce his Hand of the King, the rebellion attacked, slaying my family and, supposedly, the king and his Hand, my cousin, Tommen Baratheon. Everyone except for me thought them dead. However I firmly believe they escaped in the chaos, took Rickon’s direwolf, and escaped North past the Wall.   
My request for you is clear: find Prince Rickon and Prince Tommen and I will reward you with dozens of new recruits. The rebellion was stock full of men when we defeated them and I am not one to kill. My dungeons are bursting and I need somewhere to put all of them. The princes must be brought back to King’s Landing to have a fair trial.   
Rickon will not become king again. I will not allow it. He ran from a danger he should have addressed long ago. Excuse my frankness, but he was a coward king. But please, find the princes and bring them back to the capital in due time. 

Your faithful queen,  
Queen Shireen Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms

Jon rolled up the paper hastily and pressed a fist to his mouth, thinking.  
“W-What is it, my lord?” The boy said slowly. Jon usually would have made a remark at the boy’s curiosity, but he reminded Jon so much of Rickon that he didn’t.  
“My brother the king ran from an attack on King’s Landing,” Jon said, standing. “He took Prince Tommen of the North with him. Tommen’s cousin Shireen is queen.”  
The boy’s mouth fell open. “There’s a thirteen year old girl ruling the country?”  
“And how old are you?” Jon said, and the boy pursed his lips and looked at his feet.  
“Go fetch my horse and a dozen rangers,” Jon said, shoving the paper back into the boy’s hand. “Show them the letter. I want to be beyond the Wall by tonight.”  
The boy nodded and hurried out of the room.  
Jon walked over to the window and looked out into the courtyard, where several younger brothers were sparring with each other, with older ones nearby, giving advice and adjusting their postures. Jon was like that once, with his siblings; He, Robb, and Theon would spar in the courtyards of the Red Keep, laughing and shrieking with surprise when they would slap each other with their flimsy wooden sticks. He recalled teaching Arya how to swing a sword and spotting Bran if he fell. He had seen Rickon the least out of all of them. He had been so little when he had left for the Watch. Had it almost been ten years now?  
Jon went back to his desk and picked up Longclaw from where it lay. Soon he would see his brother. It may not be on good terms, but he would see him.  
Soon, Rickon, Jon thought as he stared down into the courtyard. I’ll see you soon.

A/n because my notes still don’t work:  
Here we go everyone!! Book 2 of A Ballad of Wolves, Lions ans Stags!! Pretty short chapter but that’s okay. Just saying I don’t follow Jon’s storyline at all in the show/books so he will probably seem like a flat character. He doesn’t give me vibes so I don’t really give him that many either :/


	2. chapter 1 — amici optimi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternate title: most ambitious crossover in history

Shireen was dreaming about princesses. She stood in the middle of an endless ballroom, surrounded on all sides by ladies in fancy dresses and done-up hair. There were no men in sight; the women danced with each other, giggling and talking to each other as they circled the room.  
There was one princess that towered above all of them. A ginger-haired beauty, with lips like blood and eyes like a winter sky. She had no partner and stood in the middle of the room forlornly. She was the only one wearing dark colors. Her black-and-silver dress made her look like a bride of death.  
Shireen tried to edge through the crowd towards the princess, but other women kept grabbing her hands and pulling her back. The black-cloaked princess didn’t even look up as Shireen was sucked back into a vortex of grasping hands and petticoats.  
She woke up slowly, the morning sun muted by her light curtains. She yawned, moving her hand to flop it over her face, and then froze.  
Someone was holding her.  
One arm around her waist and another lightly around her neck. She panicked but didn’t move, her breath speeding up and her heartbeat following suit. She slowly turned her head to peek at her captor over the pillows.  
She was greeted by twinkling, good-natured blue eyes framed by dark, dark lashes. His eyes were half-hidden by impossibly curly black hair, and when he smiled, it brought color to his pale cheeks.  
“Sebby!” Shireen gasped, flinging herself on top of him. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  
“I’d forgotten how cute you look when you sleep,” Sebastian said, smiling that immaculate doofus cherub smile. “You look like a lamb.”  
“When did you get here?” Shireen said, smiling right back. Sebastian shrugged. “Last night. They told me to go to my room and that you’d talk to me tomorrow. So I promptly found your room and fell asleep.”  
“You’re going to get killed one of these days,” Shireen sighed, reaching over to her nightstand to grab her silky robe. “Sneaking into things you’re not supposed to sneak into.”  
“It’s a talent,” Sebastian said in singsong, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back towards him. She squealed happily as he peppered her face with light kisses. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured into her skin.  
Shireen and Sebastian had met three years ago when he had gone to squire at Dragonstone. She remembered the day he arrived so clearly: he had been even shorter and skinnier, and he was constantly tripping over his own feet. Over the year and a half he had been there, he had grown and gotten better and better at swinging a sword, until he could spar easily with Shireen’s other friends, Edric and Devan. The four of them were inseparable at Dragonstone.  
Then the Rebellion of the Kings began and Shireen was kidnapped and taken to Dreadfort. Afterwards Sebastian had told her he and his sister Corlisse had practically flown into a full-blown rage when they learned she had been kidnapped. He was one of the only people who knew what happened to her and where she went.  
After the Red Wedding Sebastian had become the young lord of House Frey. Bran had pardoned him for his family’s treason against the royal family and allowed Sebastian and Corlisse to rule the Twins in peace.  
They had fallen in love at Dragonstone. Shireen remembered the first time he had kissed her. They were at one of the island’s rocky beaches, skipping stones across the ocean’s surface and watching dolphins jump up and down with their young beside them. She remembered Sebastian had pulled her close and kissed her as the sun slipped behind the castle walls, leaving them illuminated in a sort of bloody light.  
After Shireen had returned from Dreadfort, she had barely seen Sebastian. He had always been busy with lordish things. He controlled one of the most popular travel spots into the North and had to regulate it daily. But she was glad he had answered her call to come to King’s Landing.  
“Did you leave Corlisse in charge of the Twins?” Shireen asked. Sebastian nodded. “Yes. She was quite pleased.” Shireen giggled.  
Corlisse, Sebastian’s older sister, was another of Shireen’s good friends. She had been in love with King Robb and part of the reason the king and the queen mother had gone to the Twins was because of her. The previous lord, Walder Frey, had been furious about their relationship, as Corlisse was supposed to be marrying an older, apparently richer lord. So he had promptly gotten rid of the problem by killing it.  
Shireen sort of wished Corlisse had been able to come as well, but someone had to take make of the Twins. And Margaery was already her handmaiden, after all. Which reminded Shireen.  
“Margaery’s going to be in here any minute,” Shireen said suddenly. “If she sees you in here, she’ll assume-“  
The door creaked open and Shireen whacked Sebastian with a pillow hard enough that he fell back. She seized her covers and piled them as well as most of her pillows on top of him. Margaery walked in, all beaming and pretty.  
“Good morning, your grace,” she said brightly, going over to the windows and flinging the curtains open, letting a warm breeze flow into the room. Then she went over to Shireen’s wardrobe and pulled it open. “What will you be wearing today?”  
“Um, Margaery,” Shireen said. “Do you mind if I get dressed by myself today? I just need some time to...gather some thoughts.”  
Margaery looked surprised, but then she smiled. “Of course. I’ll be in my chambers if you need anything.” With a cheeky little bow she was gone, leaving Shireen and Sebastian alone again.  
“You need someone’s help to dress yourself?” Sebastian asked sarcastically, his voice muffled by the blankets and pillows. Shireen rolled her eyes and whacked him again with a pillow once he emerged from his soft prison. “No,” Shireen said. “I can get dressed just fine by myself.”  
“Good,” Sebastian said, reaching down below the bed to pull out a gray box. “Because I got you a new dress.”  
Shireen gasped. “You didn’t,” she said, but lifted the top off anyway and pulled the dress out of the box. It was beautiful, like all of the dresses Sebastian gave her; it was bright orange with yellow and red accents all over, along with a lot of ruffles. She loved it.  
“Sebby, thank you!” She said, flinging her arms around him. He laughed. “Well, put it on,” he said. “I want to see you in it.”  
Shireen grabbed the dress and slipped behind her dressing screen. Usually she had Margaery to help tighten her bodice but she managed just fine. Finally she stepped out, twirling like a stuck-up princess and grinning like crazy.  
Sebastian grinned right back. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he said.  
Shireen giggled and scampered over, hugging him again. “Edric and Devan should be here soon,” She said. “I’m guessing you want to go wait for them?”  
“Of course,” Sebastian said, his blue eyes lighting up at the mention of his friend’s names. Shireen took his hand and they ran down the halls of the Keep, giggling like small children.  
“Your nameday is in a week,” Sebastian said as they entered the Great Hall. “Are you going to have a celebration?”  
“My nameday?” Shireen said, a bit alarmed. “Oh, wow. Fourteen. Will I only be fourteen?” She shook her head. She had lived so many lifetimes in her head that she had forgotten how old she was.  
“I guess so,” Sebastian said cheerfully. “You’ll finally be one year closer to being my age. But you’ll never catch up to the rest of us.”  
Shireen huffed. “It’s not fair. Edric’s almost seventeen and you and Devan are fifteen, and somehow I’m taller than the two of you.”  
Sebastian laughed. “It doesn’t matter how old you are. You’re our friend; that won’t change.”  
Shireen sat down on the Iron Throne. “I know,” she said. “I’m so excited to see Edric again. The last time we saw him was, what, two years ago?”  
“I know,” Sebastian agreed. “After your dad shipped him off to Lys—“  
“My dad didn’t ship off anyone,” Shireen objected. “It was because Meli—“  
She was interrupted as Margaery rushed in from the side of the room. “Queen Shireen!” She called, smiling. “Your friends are waiting in the courtyard.”  
Shireen was immediately on her feet, practically jumping down the stairs as she ran towards the doors. She burst out into the sunlight, momentarily blinded, and then she saw them.  
The two boys turned, startled. One was much taller than the other, with dark hair and navy blue eyes. His skin had darkened slightly, most likely a side-effect of living in Essos for two years. The other boy was much shorter and skinnier, with sharp features and flyaway blonde hair. His brown eyes widened when he saw Shireen and Sebastian.  
Shireen burst into laughter and hurled herself at the boys, enveloping them in a fierce hug. They returned her laughter and hugged back, each one trying to talk over each other. After greetings and hugs were exchanged between the four of them, Shireen spoke.  
“I’m so happy you two could come,” she said. “It’s been so lonely with just me.”  
“I’m sure we’ll be hearty company,” Edric said, grinning. He resembled his dad, Robert Baratheon, so much it was a little unsettling.  
“I’m sure you will,” Shireen said. “Devan, how is Dragonstone?”  
“Boring,” he declared loudly. “When I got your summons everyone was practically begging me to take them with me. My father stayed behind, but I brought these two with me.”  
He gestured behind him where two others were climbing out of a carriage. It was Melisandre, Shireen’s priestess, all dressed in red silks, and Patchface, Shireen’s favorite jester from Dragonstone.  
“Patches!” She said happily, running forward and hugging Patchface tightly around his large middle.  
“Little lady, little lady,” Patchface cooed in his unusual manner, patting Shireen’s head lightly. “The last drop of a candle’s wax.”  
“My lady,” Melisandre said, curtsying deeply. She smiled easily at Shireen. Melisandre had become a sort of mother figure to Shireen after Selyse started ignoring her. She had taught Shireen how to look into a fire and see things. She wasn’t very good at it, but Melisandre said that if she practiced she could be a skilled priestess.  
“Lady Melisandre,” Shireen said, untangling herself from Patchface and smiling at her. “I’m so glad you two could come as well! The Keep will be so much less lonely with all of you here.”  
She led them inside and pointed out where all the rooms were. Melisandre and Patchface went off to their rooms, and Shireen, Sebastian, Devan and Edric all went to her room and sprawled out on her bed like they used to, throwing candies into each other’s mouths and practically shrieking in laughter when they missed.  
“So...do you like being queen?” Devan asked after a while. Now they were on their backs, staring up at the ceiling in silence. “Like, what do you have to do?”  
“Supervise the army,” Shireen said, listing off all of her jobs. “Regulate prisoners. Pass and veto laws. Make sure the people are at peace. The works.”  
“That sounds kind of boring,” Edric said, rolling over onto his stomach to look at her. “Don’t you want to quit?”  
“Rickon quit,” Shireen pointed out. “And now Rickon’s beyond the Wall cowering in some wildling village.”  
This shut up Edric right quick. He had the biggest mouth of everyone Shireen knew.  
“Is Rickon coming back here?” Sebastian asked. “For a trial?”  
“I sent a message to Lord Commander Jon Snow,” Shireen explained. “I asked him to find Rickon and Tommen and bring them back here for a trial, so yes. I didn’t get a reply. I don’t know if he’s going or not.”  
“I bet he will,” Devan said, rolling over so he was lying on Edric’s back. “Jon’s Rickon’s half-brother, isn’t he? All of the Starks were supposedly, like, crazy-close with him before he left for the Watch.”  
“Well, then maybe they’ll be back soon,” Shireen said. She certainly hoped so. She wanted to see the look on Rickon’s face when she burnt the last of the Stark banners from the walls.

A/N:  
*loud sobbing* I lOve my bAbies y’all don’t even knOw  
Also someone teach me how to write Patchface dialogue. It’s sO hArd I have a tumblr, btw!!! I post some sneak peeks to some chapters on there sometimes. It’s @violet-eye-ashara. If you want spoilers and A+ content go read on there!


	3. chapter 2 — captivus

Tommen sat in a tree, humming to himself as he sketched out the shapes he saw in the clouds. It was sunny, the crystalline blue sky clear with only a few cotton ball clouds drifting across it. All the wildlings said that it was rare to have such a nice day.  
He set down his sketchbook and looked out across the field. He and Rickon had received a herd of sheep from a kindly wildling woman who was too old to tend to them anymore, so now they were able to make meager profit off of their wool. Tommen was usually the one to go out and tend to the flocks, leading them out into huge expanses of green grass and cool streams.  
On days like these Tommen would sit up in a tree and take a nap. But today the clouds were so pretty he had to draw them. He had always seen things in the clouds. Like the one drifting across the sun just now — to Tommen, it looked like a dragon, its mouth wide open and wings stretched wide. It made him think woefully of Daenerys. Had she survived the attack on King’s Landing? Were her dragons okay?   
He put Daenerys and her dragons out of his mind. He was done with Westerosi politics. He was north of the Wall, perfectly content. Yes, he occasionally had the urge to run back to see if his family was okay. He hoped Arya was the best queen Westeros had ever seen.  
His serene thoughts were interrupted by someone hailing him from the ground. He looked down and saw a wildling woman staring up at him. She was pale, like most Free Folk, but her hair was a brilliant shade of orange, tied back hastily from her face. She wore furs covered in snow, as if she had gone and rolled around in a snow bank.  
“Hey,” she said in a gruff voice. “You know of any villages ‘round these parts?”  
“Um, yes, ma’am,” Tommen said, swinging his leg over the branch and sliding down to a lower bow. “There’s one a about two miles south.”  
“That’s where yer from?” The woman asked, flashing him a toothy grin. Tommen nodded, eventually landing on the frosty grass. “Yes. Do you need me to take you?”  
“That’d be nice,” she said, and Tommen nodded. “Okay. I’ll have to leave you at the gates, because I can’t be gone from my flocks for long.”  
“Oh, that’s just fine.” The wildling woman said as they began to walk. “Name’s Ygritte, by the way. What’s yours?”  
“Um, Tommen.” Tommen said. He and Rickon had chosen fake names if they every met anyone from Westeros, but around the village and with the Free Folk they just used their real names.  
“Nice to meet you, Tommen,” she said. “You don’t look like a Free Folk, if I’m being honest.”  
“Oh, I’m not a wildling.” Tommen said, stepping over a ditch. “I’m from Westeros. Well, my mother was. She died when I was little and I ran up here with a friend.”  
“You’re brave, then,” Ygritte said. “Little boys from down south don’t last that long up here, unless yer with the Watch.”  
“Mhm.” Tommen hummed absentmindedly. The rest of the walk was spent in silence as they walked closer to the village. Tommen stopped at the gates.  
“I’ll have to leave you here,” Tommen said. Ygritte smiled. “Thanks, kid. Here’s a gift your yer troubles.” She dug around in her pack for a moment, and Tommen leaned a little bit forward, curious.  
The knife was at Tommen’s throat before what was happening. He tried to scream but a gloved hand was slapped over his mouth. The second person wrestled him down into the snow.  
“Scream, and your little king dies,” Ygritte growled, flipping a second knife around in her hands. “The queen won’t be happy if we take you back in several pieces.”  
Tommen’s chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. The other person who had pulled him down into the snow took the knife away from his throat and instead held out his hand towards Ygritte. She handed him some rope and a ripped piece of cloth, most likely ripped from a piece of clothing. The gloved person shoved the cloth into Tommen’s mouth and tied it at the back of his head, forming a gag. Tommen felt the rough texture of the rope burn his wrists as they were tied together.  
“Alright, little prince,” The gloved captor said, standing. Tommen stared up at him in fear. He was tall, with curly black ringlets and a sullen face. He wore all black — black furs, black cloak, black boots. The only trace of color on him was the hilt of his sword, which was a white wolf’s head.  
“You come with us and don’t put a finger out of line, or you’ll loose it,” The black-cloaked man growled. Tommen squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping down his face, as the man hauled him to his feet and pushed him along.


	4. chapter 3 — pueri parvi

“Tommen!” Rickon called in singsong as he pushed open the door to their little cottage. “You’ll never believe what I found at the market!” He shut the door behind him, inhaling to yell something else, but stopped.

The cottage was empty and silent, with absolutely no one inside.

Rickon slowly set down the wicker basket he had been carrying, looking around. “Tommen?” He called cautiously. Tommen was never late. There wasn’t even a blizzard or rain to slow him down today. Rickon leaned out the window to look at the small field they kept the sheep in at night. The sheep weren’t back, either.

“Strange,” Rickon murmured, turning away from the window and hurrying into the one other room in the cottage, which was their bedroom. He seized his Valyrian steel sword, Snowstrike, from its mount on the wall and tucked it into his cloak.

Tommen was never, ever late. He was always at home when Rickon got back from town, usually with dinner cooked and ready. He was always there and Rickon would sweep him up and kiss him until he giggled and show him what profit they had made from the sheep’s wool. Something very bad must have happened to keep Tommen and the sheep from returning home.

Rickon glanced out the window. The sun was setting on the horizon. It would be dark soon. After dark it was dangerous to go outside the walls of the village. He’d have to find Tommen quickly if he wanted to get back after sundown.

He grabbed an extra cloak for Tommen if he was wounded in a ditch somewhere and swept out of the house, grabbing his horse’s reins and slinging himself up onto its back. He flicked the reins hard and dug his heels into the horse’s flank. The horse whinnied loudly and galloped out of the gates, scattering startled wildling women returning from doing laundry at the nearby stream.

Rickon rode hard out into the wilds of the northern land before halting his horse abruptly. He had crested a hill and could see for a few miles. Down the hill and into the nearby valley, a flock of sheep were grazing, munching at the grass blissfully. Those were no doubt their sheep. Rickon continued down the hill, towards the sheep.

The fluffy white animals looked up as Rickon approached, bleating in annoyance as their dinner was disturbed. Rickon himself wasn’t a shepherd — that was Tommen’s job. But he unsheathed his sword all the same and wagged it at them. “Go home!” He shouted. “Go home! You know the way, go!”

The sheep just bleated in annoyance again and kept grazing.

Rickon circled the herd three times, waving his sword and yelling at them. They still didn't budge. Exasperated, Rickon abandoned the sheep and rode back towards the village. Tommen wouldn’t leave the sheep for no reason. Rickon had to find him before some other, ghastly wild animal did.

But first, he needed backup.

He burst back into the village and his horse pounded down the cobblestones until Rickon pulled back hard on the reins, and the horse reared, whinnying. Its front hooves smacked back down against the stones of the road and Rickon yelled, “Shaggydog!”

There was a pause, and then the huge black beast erupted out of his kennel, caterwauling like a corybantic animal. His green eyes glinted with need for adventure. Rickon knew that his pet needed a chance like this. He was too bored in his kennel.

“Come on, Shaggy,” Rickon said, wheeling the horse around. “We’ve got some hunting to do.” He tugged a piece of cloth out of his pocket and tossed it to Shaggydog. It was a piece of Tommen’s cloak that always smelled like him — lemony and warm. Rickon kept it so when the days got especially cold when they were apart, he could always have a little piece of the golden stag with him.Shaggydog sniffed it intently, and then his tail went straight up, and he roared like a lion ad pounded out of the village. Rickon followed, the wind snatching his hair and cloak an throwing them around in his eyes and across his legs. Shaggydog never hesitated in his hunt. He wasn’t the best tracker — Grey Wind had always been the best hunter out of the direwolves — but it was better than Rickon stumbling across the countryside all night.

After an hour of running the horse was tiring. Rickon was beginning to worry that they would never find Tommen before he saw the lights.

A small, tiny even, wagon train. He counted two wagons and about a dozen men at a glance. Half of them carried torches and the wagons had their own. It processed agonizingly slowly across the snowy terrain, the wheels creaking loud enough for even Rickon to hear them.

He slid off of his horse and struck it on the flank. The horse began the long walk back to the village. Rickon didn’t really care if the horse lived or died. He had a better, more stealthier steed.

He went over to Shaggydog, who had paused in the cover of some low bushes. Rickon put a hand on his flank. “Hey, boy,” He said softly. “I know its been a while since we worked together like this. But I really need you to trust me, okay?”

Shaggydog’s green eyes never wavered, and Rickon got the feeling the wolf agreed with him.

“Alright, then,” Rickon said, unsheathing Snowstrike. “Let’s go get Tommen back.”

The boy and the direwolf both slid out from the bushes, their footsteps silent and their movements undetectable. The back of the caravan was an open-backed wagon, stacked high with barrels and hay. A small, petite figure was slumped on the back amidst the items. Rickon knew it had to be Tommen.

Rickon slunk forward with Shaggydog at his side, tiptoeing up to the back of the wagon. It was going slow enough that Rickon could hop onto it without barely any trouble. Shaggydog padded behind it, his head swinging from side to side as he checked for danger.

Rickon knelt to the best of his ability next to Tommen. He looked unhurt, but he could have internal wounds. Like he could have bumped his head or something. But right now it appeared that he was sleeping. Rickon shimmied up next to him and placed a careful hand over his mouth. As he expected, Tommen’s eyes flew open, startled. Rickon pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m here to rescue you,” Rickon whispered. “I’m here to take you back home.”

“Rickon, you can’t be here,” Tommen hissed worriedly, sitting up. “He’ll catch you. He only came for me so they can get you.”

“Who?” Rickon asked, startled. He had always had a list of the people he was convinced would come to try and drag him back to King’s Landing. Arya was always at the top, since she would want him to come home and be king again. Theon, Daenerys, and Shireen were up there too, since they had been part of his court and everything. Rickon’s half-brother Jon was in that list somewhere as well. He manned the Wall, but the Night’s Watch wasn’t entirely under the monarchy’s rule. So Rickon didn’t really worry about Jon coming to get him.

Tommen said something but his voice was drowned out by Shaggydog’s furious barking. Rickon whirled around to see the direwolf being tackled by a slightly smaller wolf, its pelt snowy white and red eyes flashing. The two wolves tussled with each other in the slush, yapping and growling at each other as they dove for the other wolf’s throat.

“Shaggy!” Rickon called, leaping forward off of the wagon. His boots sent up a wave of cold water from a puddle as he lunged towards the strange white wolf. He raised Snowstrike over his head, but someone grabbed him from behind and forced Snowstrike from his hand. The sword fell to the ground with a splash.

Rickon struggled for a moment, furiously kicking against his attacker, and then he was thrown forcefully down onto the wagon, which had stopped. The strange person shoved a sword against against Rickon’s throat, and he ceased struggling.

The mysterious attacker stared down at Rickon sullenly. He had wild black ringlets dripping from the snow and hanging into his coal-black eyes. He looked agonizingly familiar to Rickon, but he couldn’t place where he had sene him before.

“Try to kill my direwolf again,” The man growled, “and I’ll feed you and your prince to him.”

_Direwolf_! Rickon thought. _He has a direwolf! Which means he’s a Stark. Which can only mean_...

“Jon,” Rickon gasped. It had begun to rain, a terrible cold precipitation that soaked through Rickon’s thick fur coats and into his skin. “Jon, wait, it’s me, Rickon.”

“I know,” Jon said gruffly. “That’s exactly why I’m here. The capital wants their king back.”

This took a moment for Rickon to understand. “No. I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing. Jon, don’t make me go. Jon, wait!” Rickon began to struggle again as Jon slung him over his shoulder and marched over to the other wagon. “Jon, don’t take me back! Don’t take me back! I don’t want to leave! Stop! Stop! Put me down! I said put me down! Stop!”

Rickon was thrown forcefully down onto the wood of the wagon. His head smacked back against the planks and he cried out in pain.

“If it were up to me,” He heard Jon say from far away. No, he was standing right in front of him. “I’d kill you where you stand. But the queen wants you back in one piece.”

The voices faded and Rickon blacked out.

A/N:

This chapter should be titled “Rickon acts like an actual toddler and that’s why people hate him” 

anyway yeah sorry for the super short chapter last time, I swear to god it was longer when I wrote it haha. Happy new year everyone!!! this year will be an A+ year for fan fiction, I can feel it!! xoxo


	5. chapter 4 — natalem

Colors exploded before Shireen’s eyes as she stepped out from the doors of the Red Keep. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision as she took in the scene before her — the courtyard was decorated with bright yellow-and-pink streamers along with dozens of banners with the Baratheon sigil sewn on. Tables of food and drinks were scattered throughout the courtyard. And, to Shireen’s delight, jesters cartwheeled and pranced everywhere, their painted faces alight with joy. Shireen cried out in happiness and clapped her hands like a happy toddler.

“So you like it?” Sebastian asked, looking up at her. Shireen grinned at him. “Oh, Sebby, it’s amazing!” She said, throwing her arms around his neck. He laughed. “It was a challenge to get it all planned in under a week, but we managed. I think.”

He offered his arm and Shireen took it. He led her down the steps down into the fray of people. She smiled and giggled as jesters swept past, their voices high-pitched and shrieking with laughter. She longed to join them, to throw herself into the sea of dancers, but she withheld herself, letting Sebastian guide her over to the feasting tables. Devan and Edric were already there, laughing together at the dancers.

“Sebastian, you outdid yourself,” Devan said as they sat down. Sebastian smiled. “It had to be perfect for Shireen,” He said, taking her hand and kissing it. She giggled.

“Happy nameday, Shireen,” Edric said, leaning over Devan to hand her a wrapped box. She happily took it and tore open the packaging. It was a beautiful silver dragon necklace, looking like it was sitting curled around her neck. She lifted her long hair and let Sebastian put it on her. “Oh, Ed, it looks wonderful!” Shireen exclaimed, smiling goofily at him. He mimicked her smile and they burst out laughing.

“Here’s my present,” Devan said sheepishly, digging around under the table and pulling out a beautifully detailing carving of a stag. Devan had inherited his father’s amazing carving skills. Shireen gasped in delight and seized it from his hands, running her fingers over the grooves and textures of the wood.

“Devvy, it’s amazing!” Shireen said, leaning over and hugging him tightly. “I’ll put him with my others.”

Devan’s face brightened. “You kept the others?”

Shireen giggled. “Of course. I kept all of them. They’re a family, after all. What should this one be called?”

“Loras,” Edric said immediately. “Look, he’s got a little garland of roses on his neck. Just like Ser Loras.”

Shireen burst out laughing. “Of course!” She said once she could breathe again. “Loras the stag it is.” She set the carving next to her plate.

The rest of Shireen’s court soon arrived. Theon was looking dashingly handsome in traditional Ironborn festival clothes. Yara, of course, didn't wear any type of dress, but a long navy shirt and deerskin pants. At least she had made the effort to brush her hair that morning.

Margaery looked absolutely stunning in a frilly, lacy white dress and her hair curled and immaculate. She walked on Loras’s arm, who looked amazing in a floral-pattern vest and blousy white shirt underneath.

Daenerys had to be the most stunning out of all of them. She wore a beautiful blue-and-gold gown with a gold corset and collar shaped like dragon scales. Her dragons were adorned as well, their wings and horns dripping with jewels. They followed behind her, making tiered little shrieks and scuttling off on either side of her to sniff underneath tables or at people’s ankles.

Once everyone was seated, servants brought out food and the entertainment began. Jesters would come out one by one and performed in the tiled courtyard, juggling flaming sticks and doing wild flips and jumping halfway across the floor. Shireen clapped for each and every one, presenting each performer with a yellow rose.

Her own jester, Patchface, was a performer as well. He played the lute and sang an upbeat song about mermaids and a wedding feast and the crabs running away with the food. Shireen laughed at every verse and handed her beloved fool the whole bouquet of roses.

Daenerys and her dragons even stepped up to act. She threw baits of dead squirrels up into the air and her dragons would dive after it, doing flips and on-a-dime turns to grab the prizes.

It was evening when the festivities were over. Shireen walked back to her room with Sebastian, flopping down on her bed and laughing breathlessly. “That was the best nameday I’ve ever had,” she said. “If only my mom and dad could be here to see it.”

“They’re seeing it from inside all those torches outside,” Sebastian said, flopping down next to her. “The Lord of Fire or whatever probably lets them see their daughter’s nameday, right?”

“Lord of Light,” Shireen corrected. “But yeah. I bet he does.”

Sebastian leaned forward to kiss Shireen on the lips. “Happy nameday, Shireen,” he murmured. “You’ve made me the luckiest lord in all of Westeros.”

Shireen closed her eyes and snaked her arms around Sebastian’s neck, leaning deep into the kiss. When they pulled away for breath Sebastian only paused a moment before ducking underneath her chin to kiss her throat. Shireen giggled and fell back onto the bed, exposing the rest of her neck and collarbones. Sebastian pulled away briefly and Shireen took the chance to reach up and grab his face, putting her lips back onto his and dragging him back down on top of her. His fingers lightly slid underneath her sleeves as he gently tugged the top of her dress off of her. Goosebumps spread across her chest as she shimmied her arms out of the sleeves, reaching up to dig her hands into Sebastian’s hair again. Sebastian barely paused for breath; he just kept spreading gentle kisses all across every inch of her skin he could find.

Shireen inhaled sharply as Sebastian kicked the rest of her dress onto the floor. Now she was just in her bodice and petticoats. It was awfully cold, but she didn't care. Sebastian’s body on top of her was pleasantly warm. His fingers drifted down, down towards the laces of her bodice, and a little bit of pressure was relieved as he tugged on the first string—

“Queen Shireen!”

Shireen and Sebastian wrenched apart from each other, gasping messes, as Margaery rushed inside. Margaery’s eyes flew wide and she slapped her hands over her mouth.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, a flush creeping up her neck. “I-I’m very sorry to interrupt, my queen, but—“ —was it Shireen’s imagination, or was Margaery smiling beneath her hands?— “you have guests arriving.”

“Who?” Shireen asked, her chest still heaving.

Margaery slowly put down her hands. “The princes have returned.”

 

A/n: okay so I messed up when I posted chapter 5 because I skipped this chapter on accident lolz. Everything should be back on track now. 


	6. chapter 5 — principes rediit

Tommen blinked wearily up at the sky as the wagons rumbled through the gates of the Red Keep. Colorful banners were everywhere. Had Arya seriously decorated the whole Red Keep in the month she’d been queen? Tommen didn’t know Arya very well, but colors like that weren’t really her style.

Guards were ramrod straight at the gate and glaring at Tommen through their helmets. He attempted to shrink back into the hay. All through the journey through King’s Landing, people had gawked and pointed at him, obviously recognizing the runaway Northern prince. Eventually he had just buried himself in hay, but he peeked out as they neared the Keep.

The wagons pulled up in front of the Keep and Tommen heard the sound of boots hitting the ground. He shrunk back as the wildling woman, Ygritte, approached his wagon. She had accompanied the caravan south, and from what Tommen had seen, she had never strayed from Jon Snow’s side.

“Up,” she said sharply, grabbing Tommen’s arm and hauling him to his feet. He stumbled off of the wagonbed, his legs unsteady from a week of sitting. His vision blurred and he willed himself not to pass out. He was fainty aware of Ygritte tying his hands together with rope. She tugged him along and he staggered after her. His vision was blurred by both hunger and fatigue; the constant jolting of the wagon had given him no sleep.

He perked up slightly when Jon appeared, leading Rickon in a similar state. Rickon still stood tall, even though he was a head and a half shorter than Jon, and wore a very grim expression, as if the moment his bonds were cut he could slit someone’s throat.

Ygritte followed Jon up the front steps and a pair of guards swung open the front doors. Tommen blinked at the sudden blast of light from the throne room.

Arya really had redecorated. The ceiling and windows were repaired, but the windows had been replaced by new, stained-glass ones — now instead of heart trees they displayed a heart on fire. Braziers full of white-hot flames were stationed at every pillar, making the room dreadfully hot. Yellow banners with a rearing black stag before a flaming heart hung over each of them. Tommen was utterly confused — wouldn’t the Stark banners be up instead of Baratheon ones? — until he saw the throne.

The girl sitting on it definitely was not Arya Stark. She had long, mousy brown hair and a very round face, still plump with baby fat. A silver-gray growth spread over the left side of her face and down her neck. She wore an extravagant dress that Arya wouldn’t have gone near in a million years — it was a magnificent yellow with a black metal corset and a large black ruffcollar shaped like antlers of the same material stretching back behind her head. Her hair was braided back in a way that reminded Tommen of Daenerys and she sat tall, her chin high and chocolate eyes flashing.

Oh no, Tommen thought, tensing. Rickon—don’t react—

It was too late. Rickon surged forward against the rope Jon held, yanking it from his hands, as he screamed, “Traitor!”

Shireen rose to her feet, alarmed, as Rickon cleared the steps in one leap and lunged for her, his hands aimed at her throat. Shireen threw her hands up in defense, but one of the people who were standing at the throne — a small, short knight who had wild curly black hair and electric blue eyes —cannoned into Rickon, unsheathing his sword in a graceful movement and bringing Rickon to the ground, his sword aimed at his throat and his boot on his chest.

“Don’t touch her,” the knight hissed. “Or I’ll have your head on a pike.”

“Sebastian,” Shireen said softly, warningly.

Sebastian, Tommen thought. Oh, it’s Sebastian Frey, the lord of the Twins.Why on earth is he here?

Sebastian eyed Shireen and then Rickon, and then grudgingly climbed off of Rickon, keeping his sword at his throat. Rickon scrambled to his feet and glared furiously at Shireen. “What did you do with Arya?” He spat. “Arya’s supposed to be queen.”

“Arya died in the attack on King’s Landing,” Shireen said softly, stepping closer to Rickon. She put a hand on Sebastian’s arm and he lowered his sword slowly. “The rebellion killed her, Rickon. I’m very sorry.”

Rickon’s gaze flickered back and forth between Sebastian and Shireen. “Then why are you queen?” He hissed. “You’re thirteen. Theon or Daenerys should be king or queen.”

“Fourteen,” Shireen corrected. “You happened to arrive on my nameday celebrations.” She glanced quickly at Sebastian and then back at Rickon. “Arya told Theon on her deathbed that you had chosen Tommen to be your Hand. Therefore, if the monarch dies and there is no family to succeed them, the throne goes to the Hand of the King and their family. The rest of the Baratheons are dead.”

“No,” Tommen said suddenly, his eyes widening. “No, that can’t be right. No. My family can’t be dead. My mother. My uncles. My sister, my brother. They’re not dead. They can’t be dead, right?”

Shireen looked at Tommen with sad eyes. “Tommen, I’m sorry.” She said softly. “I lost my mother and father as well. I know how you feel.”

“You never know how it feels,” Rickon suddenly snarled, flashing forward and wrapping his hands around Shireen’s pale throat. She screamed and kicked him in the stomach, but he forced her to the ground. Sebastian yelled and rushed forward with his sword, but yet another person came barreling out from behind the throne to kick Rickon directly in the head. He was very tall, and he looked so much like Robert Baratheon Tommen had to do a double take. But he had darker hair and was much younger. He hauled Shireen to her feet and protectively put his arms around her. Another young man emerged from behind the throne — how many people can fit back there? Wondered Tommen — and ran to also comfort Shireen. He had flyaway blonde hair and gentle brown eyes.

Rickon coughed a splatter of dark blood and then sat up, glaring daggers at the queen and her entourage. Shireen was visibly shaken, with one hand still protectively around her throat, but her head was still high.

“Prince Theon,” she called, her voice shaking. Theon walked out from a side door. “Yes, my queen?” He answered, his seaglass gaze sweeping over Tommen and Rickon.

“Take Prince Tommen down to the dungeons,” Shireen commanded. “I wish to speak to Rickon along with Sebastian, Edric, and Devan in Melisandre’s chambers.” She regarded Tommen with no pity. “Lock him far away from the rebellion prisoners. I don’t want him going mad from the screaming.”


	7. chapter 6 — locus ignis

Rickon tried not to think about the fact that he was being led to his unavoidable demise by a bastard.

Edric Storm kind of freaked Rickon out, if he was being honest. He was the spitting image of a darker-haired, slightly skinnier, younger Robert Baratheon. Rickon figured if he could find a portrait of a younger Robert, it could be Edric’s doppelgänger.

Edric had a firm hand on Rickon’s elbow. His hands had been untied, which he personally thought wasn’t very safe for anyone, but Edric was much taller and bigger than Rickon, so trying to pick a fight with him wouldn’t be a good idea either.

He led Rickon down a corridor Rickon hadn’t been down in a long time. It was mostly guest quarters, and the last people who had stayed here were all the delegates for his Hand competition. Now they were mostly empty, with some used for extra servant quarters if a visiting noble family arrived and had surplus courtiers.

Finally they came to a door at the very end of the hall. Edric eyed Rickon with suspicion as he pushed open the door and shoved him inside.

Rickon immediately coughed. The room was practically on fire. It was the equivalent of walking into a furnace. Fires roared in every corner and every spare place, making the room smoky and uncomfortably hot. Rickon didn’t know how anyone could sleep in here. But there was a bed in the corner, neatly made with not a wrinkle in the blankets. The occupants of the room were seated on pillows or standing nearby.

Including Rickon and Edric, there were six people in the room. Shireen was seated on a red pillow in front of the largest brazier, leaning very close to the fire that Rickon was surprised her hair didn’t catch in the sparks. The fire reflected in her dark eyes, making her look ethereal.

Seated next to her was a tall, imposing woman with deep red hair and pale skin. She wore long red robes and had her hair tied back from her face. She stared into the flames as well, and Rickon noticed her eyes were a dark crimson.

Standing nearby was Lord Sebastian, leaning against a pillar and glaring so hard at Rickon that he was surprised he didn't burst into angry flames. Something Rickon noticed was that his eyes were glassy and glazed at the same time, looking like a thin sheen of ice had spread over his pupils.

The one other person was the other boy that had come out to comfort Shireen. The pale one with caramel eyes and thin blonde hair. He carried no weapon and was slouched against a pillar opposite Sebastian. The pair looked like very angry sentinels.

Edric stopped Rickon in the middle of the room, not saying anything. It seemed like ages before Shireen looked up from the fire. The flames continued to dance in her eyes even as she turned away. Rickon shivered.

“Can you see anything, Prince Rickon?” She said softly. She nodded at the fire.

Rickon was puzzled. It must be a trick question. He remained silent.

Shireen smiled easily. “Melisandre has been teaching me how to see into flames. She’s much better than me.” She giggled.

The woman, Melisandre smiled in a mysterious way that made Rickon’s skin crawl. “The Lord of Light grants one endless sight if you are faithful,” she said in a wispy, light voice that gave Rickon the same feeling. “Shireen is on her way to becoming a wonderful priestess.”

“But I’m not going to move into a temple or anything,” Shireen said quickly. She glanced over at Sebastian. It might have been the firelight, but Rickon could have sworn he saw Shireen’s neck and ears flush.

Aha, Rickon thought confidently. Now I know who she likes. Now she has a weakness.

“Anyway, Rickon,” she said, folding her hands into her lap. “Simple question. Why’d you run away from King’s Landing?”

Rickon had prepared for this question the whole way here. “I hated my job,” he said simply. “Everything was so stressful. I had no personal time. I hated it.”

“You didn’t have any time because you dragged out the Hand competition for too long,” Shireen said accusingly. “You knew you wanted Tommen to be your Hand but you kept Lord Tywin and Lady Daenerys captive here for nearly a month longer than they had to be.”

“That was my choice,” Rickon snapped. “If I waited to choose a Hand, then they could help me with the rebellion.”

“And what on earth does my cousin know about wars and rebellions?” Shireen challenged, standing up. Her dragon-shaped necklace was askew. “Tommen knows nothing of war; he’s scared of it. And, according to him, so are you.”

“He told you that?” Rickon demanded, balling up his fists. Tommen had promised never to tell anyone that. He heard Sebastian snort down a giggle.

“Tommen told me everything I needed to know,” Shireen countered evenly. “He confided in me when you were acting like a lion with a thorn in its paw.”

“Lord Robert had insulted my family,” Rickon hissed. “I had every right to be upset.”

“Yes, to Robert,” Shireen said. “But not to Tommen. What did Tommen do to you that day that made you such a jerk?”

Rickon opened his mouth to spit a smart retort, but when nothing came to mind, he closed it again. He felt his neck flush.

Shireen heaved a long sigh. “Disappointing.” She looked back at the fire. “The public really hates you, you know.”

“Really?” Rickon said dryly.

Shireen glared at him. “They’re furious. They loved your brother and your sister—“

“Which one?” Rickon mumbled under his breath.

“—and they loved their rule.” Shireen frowned at him. “You had pity on your side when you began your rule. People expected a lot — you were a Stark, after all. Your rule should have been perfect.” She took a step forward and Rickon realized she was well over a head taller than him and he had to look straight up to see her eyes. “What happened?”

When Rickon didn’t reply, she sighed again. “Tommen happened. He stole you away from reality. If he hadn’t come down from Winterfell, none of this would have happened.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be l—I mean, friends with Tommen?” He had almost slipped and said lover.

Shireen looked at Rickon like he was a dog incapable of learning a trick. “Don’t bother trying to hide the fact you’re in love with him,” she said. “Practically everyone knows, and if they didn’t, they put two and two together when you arrived here.”

Rickon swallowed uncomfortably.

“I’m not going to burn you at stake or anything,” Shireen said, and Rickon saw Melisandre shift uneasily behind her.“But I’d just stop. For now. For your own safety, stay away from Tommen until we get this whole thing sorted out.”

Rickon met her eyes, taking quiet, deep breaths. “Fine.” He growled. “But mark my words, I’m getting my throne back.”

A knock broke the tension in the room like a bowstring, and they turned to see Theon fling open the door, with Yara behind him. Both looked disheveled and windblown.

“What is it?” Shireen asked, stepping out from behind Rickon.

“In the throne room,” Theon said breathlessly. “He’s here. Our uncle — Euron.”

A/n: only four more chapters until the best part of this book 👀


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